


Can you drink all my thoughts?

by SweetheartDesus



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Daryl/Paul "Jesus" Rovia, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, aaron cares about daryl a lot, daryl is just very very sad, glenn and abe are dead, post the war with negan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9132514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetheartDesus/pseuds/SweetheartDesus
Summary: Daryl Dixon loses himself. Paul Rovia wants to find him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written, so feedback will be appreciated!
> 
> I'll include trigger warnings if needed at the beginning of each chapter. 
> 
> TW:  
> \- Mentions of self hate.  
> \- Daryl can't control his feelings. (Has an outburst of sorts).  
> \- Daryl is just very sad in general.  
> \- Homophobic comments.

Daryl wasn't quite sure when he started to hate himself. 

It definitely wasn't sudden. Perhaps it was buried so deep inside of him, pushed so far down, he had started to pretend it wasn't there. Something he could forget. Brush aside. But it started to eat away at him, slowly but surely. It started to destroy him from the inside-out, until he could no longer recognise the cold eyes that stared back at him in the mirror every morning. 

********************

After the war with Negan most of the Hilltop community had moved to Alexandria, finding strength in numbers. To take the load off of Rick, Maggie had suggested an elected council of some sort to take charge. A council that could help make important decisions to reduce conflict between the communities. It consisted of Rick, Jesus, Maggie, Michonne, Sasha, a few people from the Hilltop community, and more reluctantly, Daryl. 

When his name had cropped up in the conversation he had immediately disagreed, mumbling about how he was "no good at that stuff". In truth, Daryl would rather go out on runs and shoot a few walkers and then be left alone. Do his part. But Aaron had piped up and vouched for him, saying he had earned his place. The rest of the bystanders had nodded their approval eagerly- Daryl had indeed earned his position. He had fought hard during the war and saved many lives, as well as sustaining many injuries. He had been in their make-shift hospital for weeks after it had all ended, drifting in and out of consciousness. Many looked at Daryl as some sort of war hero. He didn't like it. 

"Daryl?"

"Huh?" Daryl grunted, snapping out of his daydream to look up at the council. 

Daryl felt nine pairs of concerned eyes burn into him, and his cheeks began to redden. He hadn't fallen asleep again, had he?

"Sasha was asking which route is the best one to take to reach the Kingdom, considering there may be a few of Negan's people around here," Rick spoke kindly, as he always did, before pointing to a spot on the map that was spread out on the table. 

Daryl flicked his gaze to the road where Rick's finger lay. Some of Negan's crazy-loyal supporters had sworn revenge on Rick after they'd found their leader dead. They now had to be careful when they were out on runs, as Negan's men had a tendency to jump in front of moving vehicles with guns blazing. 

"Could cut through the forest," Daryl replied shortly as he slumped back into his chair, ignoring Michonne's concerned look. 

"There'd be more walkers though, wouldn't there?" Sasha replied, voicing Rick's thoughts.

"I'd rather face a few walkers than Negan's crazy worshippers," a man from Hilltop chipped in, earning a chorus of chuckles from the rest of the council. His name was Jim, and he was by far the youngest on the council- he was only twenty years old and had lost most of his family apart from his younger sister. Rick had noticed him stepping up to lead his own group against Negan, and they had all admired his undaunted bravery. It was only right for him to be on the council, Rick had said.

"Is everyone agreed on taking that route?" Rick asked loudly, his eyes flicking from each person before settling on Michonne. 

She gave him a subtle yet reassuring nod, before everyone followed suit. It was the best plan. 

Suddenly Daryl felt very tired. The council had been meeting frequently over stupid arguments that were happening in their community. Arguments that Daryl didn't care about. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his room and sleep the rest of the day away.

As soon as he heard chairs scraping against the floor and the murmured chatter of people leaving, Daryl stood up suddenly and made a beeline towards the doors. 

"Daryl? Daryl! Hey- wait up!" 

Daryl pretended not to hear the voice, keeping his head down and his pace fast. 

"Daryl!"

He slowed down, letting out a frustrated sigh. Why couldn't he just be left alone?

It was Maggie calling his name. Daryl felt as if he'd just been stabbed by a white hot knife. 

"Are you ignoring me?" Maggie accused sharply, her lips pressed tightly together. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and Daryl could see that she was pretty pissed off. 

"I ain't doing anything," Daryl grumbled, keeping his gaze low. He couldn't bare to look at her face. 

Maggie was silent for a few moments. The tension between them was unbearable and all Daryl wanted to do was run. Run far away and never look back at the mess he'd left behind. 

"Is everything okay here?"

Fucking Jesus. 

Maggie glared at Daryl's head for a few more agonising seconds before turning to Paul. 

"We're good, thank you Jesus," Maggie spoke slowly, her voice still clipped with anger. 

"You sure?" Jesus probed concernedly, his eyes falling on Daryl's hunched frame. It was unclear as to whom the question was directed to. 

Jesus was known to be a kind-hearted and cheerful guy, as well as one of Maggie's closest friends. After the war, Glenn's death affected Maggie in a way no one could have imagined- she had fallen deep into herself, and no one could seem to pull her back. She would hardly eat or drink, and would speak to no one. Maggie had spent so much time locked away in her room that her skin had become a pale yellow colour, and her eyes were generally bloodshot from crying. Rick and Michonne had tried to get through to her, but they were only met with a blank gaze. Sasha had spent hours sitting with her, begging her to say something. 

Many people had written Maggie Rhee off as one of the dead. 

Only Paul Rovia, known to everyone as "Jesus", had been able to bring Maggie back. He somehow managed to convince her to eat, to talk about how she truly felt. After a few days of her 'Jesus treatment' she seemed to be back to normal. However there was something new about Maggie. Something within her had changed. She would take no bullshit from anyone.

And Daryl was becoming well aware of that. 

Daryl met Jesus' gaze for a split second before nodding stiffly, turning around and stalking straight towards his house. And God forbid anyone from trying to talk to him.

********************

The house that Daryl had been given after everyone had moved to Alexandria was perfect. It was a small, one bedroomed place that was situated on the outskirts of the community. Due to the amount of people in Alexandria, the council had agreed that the houses must be filled- one person couldn't live in a house on their own. It was for protection as well. Rick had understood that Daryl needed his own space and often felt overwhelmed with the amount of people in their community, so he was granted his own small house. It meant Daryl had to walk a little further after their meetings, but it was a small price to pay for peace and quiet. 

The houses in Alexandria were pretty much identical. Many people had taken to gardening to pass the time, and it was one of the ways to distinguish who lived where. The front of Daryl's house had a small unkept front lawn and a white picket fence. He had snorted at the sight of it. 

The interior was simple and furniture sparse, but it was evident who lived there with the occasional cigarette butt or dirty glass scattered between the cushions. He had very few possessions of his own to decorate the house with, so he'd left most of the furniture where it had been when the house had been given to him. Daryl wouldn't call it home, but it was as close as he could get to it.

Daryl slammed the door shut behind him and locked it, kicking off his boots at the door. It was a habit Tara had made him get into once she had seen the state of his stained floors. He never had to take his boots off at the door when he was a kid. 

He was starting to feel itchy in his own skin. The run in with Maggie had made his heart pound too hard and too quickly. He could see the hurt in her eyes when she'd addressed him. He could see it. Then the way that Jesus had come over to try and 'save' Maggie from Daryl. As if he was some type of monster. 

_They think you're a monster._

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl growled to no one in particular, reaching up to smack his palm against his forehead. 

The looks. He saw them. Everyone looked at him weird. As if he was some type of freak. 

They didn't like him, they were just scared of him. Scared of what he did to her. Scared of what he'd done to Maggie. 

Daryl ran. He ran up the stairs, as if he could run away from the thoughts that plagued and weighed him down. But they were there. 

They were always there. 

Bolting into his bedroom he threw himself down on the bed and yelled. He swore and ploughed into his pillow with his clenched fists as tears pricked at his eyes.

_Stupid prick. Can't even handle his own problems without crying like a bitch._

Daryl Dixon never used to cry. He used to express his emotions in wild fits of rage. Smashed plates, broken walls, bruised knuckles. Now he knew he had to be silent. He couldn't let anyone know he was like this. 

Daryl bit down on his hand, hard. He had to feel something to bring him back, something to ground him before he lost it. The pain blinded him for a few seconds, halting his breathing. But it was enough. 

He lay there face down in the pillow for the next hour, trying to get his breathing under control. 

********************

It was the sharp knocking at the door that pulled Daryl out of his fitful slumber. 

"Open the door Daryl, I know you're there."

Aaron. His voice was calm but persistent, and Daryl knew he wouldn't go away until he'd opened the door. 

"C'mon Daryl, you can't stay in there forever."

Slowly, he dragged himself off the pile of crumpled sheets. He couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to wash them. Daryl stumbled blindly to the stairs, gripping onto the handrail as he made his way down. Aaron's knocking had become more louder and determined. 

"M'comin'!" Daryl yelled, fumbling with the lock on the door before flinging it open, his temper now short. 

Daryl wouldn't say that he had many friends at Alexandria, but Aaron was definitely someone he could tolerate. When they'd first met, Daryl realised Aaron was very much like himself; he only spoke when needed, and kept his personal business to himself. He didn't throw his relationship in people's faces or try to flaunt it- he was a very private man in certain ways. And Daryl respected that. It was hard to keep your business to yourself these days. 

"Were you asleep?" Aaron questioned, his tone edging on concerned. Everyone seemed to be concerned with him recently. 

"Nah," Daryl replied shortly, hoping he would leave soon. He didn't want to say something he'd later regret and hate himself for. 

"Do you want to join me and Eric for dinner? I know you don't like sitting with everyone else and I thought- well, we thought you'd like some company. Get out of the house, you know?" Aaron smiled with his lips pressed together. 

It was already time to eat? The realisation dawned that Daryl had slept through most of the day, and looking up, he realised that the sky was already beginning to turn a soft shade of orange. Summer evenings were appreciated by most- it meant that everyone would sit outside and eat together, only disturbed by a light breeze. The chatter would die down as it got darker, but you could always find a few groups of people huddled in front porches to watch the sun set. 

Daryl didn't usually go out to sit with everyone. He preferred his own company in his own bed, sleeping or staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Anything to stop him from having to interact with anyone. 

Before he could think Aaron's offer through, he nodded slightly. 

"Sure."

********************

He regretted saying 'yes' as soon as they left Daryl's front steps and started walking towards Aaron's house. 

Aaron began rambling on about how they'd managed to scavenge materials to build up their defences at the entrance, but as much as Daryl tried, he just couldn't concentrate on his words. His head felt heavy from his earlier episode, and he knew the only way to feel better was to just sleep. Or drink the homemade 'cider' that they had tried to brew until he could no longer taste the bitterness and his mind felt numb.

"So d'you want to go?" 

"Huh?" Daryl jerked his head up slightly at Aaron's voice. 

Aaron let out a small sigh. It had become a regular occurrence now. Aaron could be talking for hours and Daryl wouldn't process a single word. At least before you could get a few replies out of him. Nowadays, he would hardly look you in the eyes. Daryl just always seemed so.. _distant._

"Would you like to go on a run with Jesus tomorrow? If it's, you know, a good day for you," Aaron watched Daryl to gage his reaction, making sure to pick his words carefully. 

He didn't know what exactly was up with Daryl. All he knew was that he had bad days, and not-so-bad days. Today was definitely a bad one. 

Daryl shrugged in response. Sweat was beginning to trickle uncomfortably down his back as he walked, hunched over. Tomorrow was likely to be an okay day for him, and it'd probably do him some good to leave everyone. 

But with Jesus? Fuck, he's not going to call him that stupid ass nickname. _Paul._ Paul, who was just too damn kind for Daryl to handle. He was bound to ask him what had happened with Maggie. Maybe ask him to sit down and talk about his feelings like a freaking child.

"I'll think about it," Daryl mumbled to Aaron once they reached his front door. 

Aaron nodded, a look of triumph glinting in his eyes. 

********************

The people in Alexandria had become accustomed to the lack of ingredients available to cook with. It was the avid chefs of the community who had come together to write up recipes that could be made using the least amount of ingredients and still taste nice. Everyone had received a copy of these recipes, and Daryl thought it was probably one of the best things that had happened since they'd killed Negan. 

As soon as Daryl stepped into the house, his stomach grumbled. He hadn't eaten all day, and the smell that was drifting from the kitchen suddenly made him realise that he was ravenous. 

"I think Eric's just finishing up the casserole. I'll go set the table," Aaron said as he kicked off his shoes. Daryl followed suit, making his way into the living room. 

Their home was very 'Aaron and Eric'. Despite it being small, it was cosy, and the whole feel of the house reminded Daryl of his mother for some reason. Above the fireplace on the mantelpiece sat a few objects that Aaron had picked up whilst on a run. One of Daryl's personal favourites was the embroidered dream catcher that hung in the centre. He had been on the run with Aaron when he had found it hanging in the bedroom of a little girl. They had found her later, crawling in her parents' room with her legs hacked off. Aaron had cried when Daryl shot her, and had taken the dream catcher as some sort of remembrance. Death pities no one. 

"It's ready!" Daryl heard Eric call from the kitchen, cutting his trail of thoughts short. 

He made his way to the dining table that was set in the room adjacent to the kitchen, and sat down. Aaron sat opposite Daryl, smiling as his boyfriend walked in with the ceramic dish. Eric settled in the seat next to Daryl and they all tucked in eagerly. 

After both Daryl and Aaron complimented Eric's cooking, the conversation lulled. The only sounds were the occasional scrape of a spoon against a bowl, or one of the men asking for more homemade bread. It was a comfortable silence. A silence in which Daryl could finally make peace with his thoughts and just enjoy the food and company. 

Daryl helped to wash the dishes once they had eaten. It had been a nice change of scenery, and he liked that Aaron and Eric didn't fuss over him. He felt comfortable, and his head finally felt clear. 

Eric bid Daryl 'goodnight' after claiming exhaustion, and kissed his boyfriend's cheek softly. It wasn't intimate or anything, but something about it made Daryl look away, his cheeks burning. He couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or uncomfortable but he definitely felt like he was intruding, so he told Aaron he was stepping out for a smoke. 

********************

It was now dark outside, but the lights outside helped illuminate the front porch. Daryl collapsed into one of the chairs, taking a deep breath before pulling out a cigarette and his lighter. His mind wandered to when he saw Eric kiss Aaron's cheek and his stomach twisted unpleasantly. Why had he felt so embarrassed? It's not as if he hadn't seen Eric and Aaron kiss before. Hell, he'd walked in on them making out and Aaron had been the one red-faced and apologising profusely. 

Daryl lit his cigarette and took a long drag, letting the smoke burn the back of his throat. 

His daddy had made it clear to him what he thought about gay people. Gay guys, especially. _No son of mine is gonna be gay. I'd whoop his ass until I beat that gay shit outta him._ Daryl shuddered involuntarily. His dad passed most of his traits onto Merle as well, who was a spitting image of his father's views. The word "gay" would constantly be chucked at him as an insult by his older brother.

_Stop crying you little bitch. What are you? One of those little gay pricks?_

Daryl was least like his brother and father. He didn't have an issue with Aaron and Eric at all. Or Tara. In fact, he realised, most of his friends were gay. He snorted out loud. Imagine if his daddy saw him now. 

"Something funny?" Aaron stepped out onto the porch, a hint of a smile on his face. 

Daryl shrugged, taking another puff from his cigarette. 

"Thanks for letting me come," Daryl finally spoke, his voice gruff. He was glad Aaron had knocked. If he hadn't, he'd either be asleep or pissed out of his mind. 

"It's never a problem, Daryl," Aaron smiled sincerely as he settled in one of the chairs near him. It was a warm night, and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. 

"I wanted to talk to you about something, actually," Aaron began suddenly, looking over at Daryl's slouched form. 

Daryl regarded him, waiting for him to continue. 

"I was thinking of proposing to Eric," Aaron blurted out, his cheeks reddening considerably. 

"If you're gonna ask me to ask 'im for you, it ain't happening," Daryl chuckled, tossing his cigarette down onto the front. Aaron grinned. 

"No, no. I just wanted to let you know," Aaron said. Daryl nodded, fiddling with his lighter. 

"When you gonna ask 'im?" 

"Soon, I hope. I don't know if he'll want something romantic or just a surprise. I think I'll ask Tara, see if she has any ideas."

Daryl nodded again. He wasn't quite sure what to say. They sat there for a few minutes, looking out into the road.

"So, are you up for the run tomorrow?" Aaron broke the silence, his voice hopeful. 

Truthfully, Daryl hadn't paid a thought to the run with Paul. But he was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic after the evening, so he nodded. 

"Yeah, I'll do it. Got nothin' to do tomorrow anyway," Daryl stretched his legs before standing up. He felt like it was time to head home. 

"That's great, I'll let Jesus know," Aaron stood up as well. Daryl could tell that Aaron was holding back a grin. 

He patted Aaron's shoulder awkwardly as a goodbye, before making his way down the steps. He wasn't really the one for hugs. 

"I'll tell Jesus to knock for you in the morning, Daryl!" Aaron called out as he watched his friend walk down the path and out the gate. 

Daryl continued to walk and held up his middle finger in response to Aaron, yelling back:

"Tell Jesus that if he knocks before noon he's getting an arrow up his ass!"

********************


	2. Chapter 2

Jesus knocked before noon. Way before noon. 

"Fuck.." Daryl groaned as he was forced awake by the sharp rap at his front door. 

Last night he had been in a pretty decent mood, and he'd collapsed into bed with his clothes still on. He slept well, and Daryl would've been in a good mood if it were any other day- but Paul Rovia was knocking on his door like a pretentious twat. 

"Dixon? The door won't open itself, you know!" 

Reluctantly and at his own pace, Daryl moved from the warmth of his bed to stand up. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he slowly made his way down the stairs, trying to keep Paul waiting for as long as possible. He _had_ woken him up, after all. 

"Dixon!" Jesus addressed him brightly by his surname once he had opened the front door, much to Daryl's annoyance. 

"What d'you want?" Daryl's morning voice was scratchy from the night before. 

"I've come to collect you for the run," Jesus said, his grin never faltering. He was wide awake, blue eyes staring expectantly. 

Daryl stared back for a few moments. It was too early and Jesus was talking too fast. 

"I told Aaron to tell you to keep the fuck away before noon," Daryl narrowed his eyes at the long-haired man, trying to ruin his cheerful mood. 

"Oh no," Jesus spoke slowly, shaking his head, "I'm pretty sure Aaron said 'wake Daryl up _before_ noon. He's an early bird!' Well, when I say 'pretty sure' I mean around 60% sure."

The fucker was playing with him. And he'd woken him up early for no goddamn reason. 

Without a word, Daryl turned around and walked back into the darkness of his house. Jesus took this as an invitation to come in. 

"Nice place you got here."

Daryl ignored him, scouring the living room to find his boots.

"I think it's better that we leave early, anyway. Don't want to hit the morning traffic, do we?"

Daryl grunted when he found his boots discarded under the sofa. He'd probably kicked them there last night. 

"You're not much of a talker, are you? Anyway, we have to see Rick before we leave. Says he wants to show us where we're headed."

Daryl pulled on his boots as quickly as he could before grabbing his crossbow, and headed out past Jesus. God knows what had possessed him to agree to do this. 

********************

"I just need you to head straight to these three houses here. Sasha and Tara managed to check the rest, but it got dark before they could finish the last ones," Rick explained, pointing to the small estate on the map. 

Jesus and Daryl both scanned the map, their skilled eyes tracking the land around the area. They had both already decided on possible routes to take. 

It was a tricky area to get to, as many of the once trimmed hedges had overgrown wildly. The section was now closed off, Rick had said. Walkers were likely to be trapped in there as well. 

"After that, make sure you check around, make sure they didn't miss anything useful. Especially bathrooms. There's been a high demand for tampons. And condoms."

Jesus made a small sound at the back of his throat. 

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't in need of them too," Jesus murmured to Daryl, his tone light. 

Daryl ignored him. 

"That's it, really. I've given Jesus the list already, so make sure to look out for those items. Be back by dark," Rick spoke authoritatively, earning a nod from both of the men. 

After a close call with Michonne, Rick had set down some rules about the runs. They weren't to go alone. They had to be back before sundown. And they avoid conflict at all costs. It was irritating for Daryl, because he liked to work solo. However he was mostly paired with Tara or Aaron, and it generally made the whole experience a little less painful. 

********************

"I call shots on driving," Paul grinned as they began to walk towards the car. 

Daryl didn't bother responding, watching the long-haired man jog towards the driver's seat of the black vehicle.

Jesus was loved by nearly everyone in both Hilltop and Alexandria, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was the type of guy that managed to weasel his way into everyone's hearts, and they were happy to keep him there. As well as being a great fighter, he was one of the most agile people Daryl had seen. During the war they had frequently worked together, and he would be lying if he said that Jesus hadn't surprised him. One moment he was by his side, and the next, he had silently killed five of Negan's men in a matter of minutes. Jesus had saved many lives, and in a way, he deserved everyone's appreciation. Daryl just couldn't stand how _happy_ he was all the time. 

"You wanna pick the music, Dixon?" Jesus watched Daryl get into the car, slamming the door shut.

Daryl chose not to reply, nodding to the guy at the gates as they drove out. 

Daryl stared out of the window, watching the familiar scenery pass by. He wasn't in the mood for talking, and realised that it probably wasn't a good idea to let the guy who pissed him off most be in the driver's seat. 

"No music, then."

He let his long fringe fall in front of his eyes. Daryl could almost hear Carol scolding him for not letting anyone cut it. Nowadays Daryl didn't care for the way he looked- his hair had grown wild and his stubble was nearly too long to be considered just 'stubble'. It was the last of his worries.

"Have I done something?"

Daryl continued to stare out of the window.

"Done what?" he finally replied, suddenly fascinated with the stains on the window.  
How long had it been since someone had cleaned them?

"Done something to piss you off. You don't seem to like me. Or anyone, for that matter," Jesus continued, his voice steady.

This guy didn't know him. Who did he think he was?

"You don't know shit, kid," Daryl grumbled his thoughts, trying to keep his breathing controlled. If he worked himself up it wouldn't be good for either of them. 

" _Kid?_ Did you just call me 'kid'?" Jesus scoffed, letting out a short laugh before continuing, "Well if we're playing happy families, _dad_ , why don't you tell me what's going on with Maggie?"

_Shit._

"You're not involved."

"Oh yes I am, dad. Maggie just happens to be someone I care about, and you seemed to piss her off mightily yesterday," Jesus' voice suddenly changed- Daryl noticed the annoyance creeping into his tone.

Jesus was very rarely angry: he played the peacekeeper in nearly every situation. His gift was his level head. But annoying Maggie had clearly pushed Jesus out of his 'Mr Nice Guy' persona. 

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?"

" _Dad._ "

"What would you prefer? Daddy Dixon?"

Daryl flushed, whipping his head around to stare at the long haired man. Jesus continued to keep his eyes on the road, a smirk tickling the corner of his mouth. 

"You're a dick," Daryl narrowed his eyes at Paul's triumphant smile.

"You'll grow to love me Dixon, I'm sure."

Daryl focused his gaze outside for the rest of the journey, hiding his coloured cheeks.

********************

The sight of uninhabited houses never failed to spook Daryl. He had been in many, granted, but it was the lack of life that always made him feel uneasy.

They would always find mugs left out on tables, as if people were still living there. Dirty dishes piled up, or the washing machine half filled. It was almost as if everyone had just vanished, leaving their lives half lived. Their food half eaten. Their chores half done. The things that were once important like money and insurance and taxes- obliterated in mere hours. To Daryl, this was worse than the world ending. It felt like they were trapped somewhere between 'normal life' and 'the end'. It almost felt like they weren't meant to survive. 

"These are the three houses that we've got to check today," Jesus had said after they'd parked up, walking up the path. 

It seemed like a nice enough area- an area to which Daryl was practically alien to. The houses were almost identical, and he could see the ghost of the gardens that were once there. They had fences and hedges and plant pots dotted around in patterns. Daryl snorted as they walked up. Merle would've spat at the doorsteps of one of these houses.

"It shouldn't take too long if there are no walkers," Jesus spoke mostly to himself, placing his hand over his knife, readying himself. 

His whole mannerism had changed since he's stepped out of the car- Daryl could tell he'd slipped out of his jokey mood. This was the Paul that he had seen during the war: the one that had his eyes wide; hands poised; body relaxed. He was ready. 

"I think the phrase is, 'take a picture, it'll last longer'. Though-" Jesus snapped Daryl out of his thoughts, holding his gaze with a grin playing on his lips.

"-I don't mind showing you where else I last long."

_What the fuck is wrong with this guy?_

Daryl stared a Jesus for a few seconds longer, stunned, before ducking his head and pushing past the man into the house. He could almost hear Jesus' smug grin.

Both Daryl and Jesus slipped into their hunting modes easily enough once they'd entered the house, with Daryl quickly forgetting the recent innuendo. The men scoped out the area, straining their ears for the faintest creak. There had been some rumours about the strength of the walker's increasing, and now, they couldn't take any chances.

"We're good," mumbled Daryl after checking each of the downstairs rooms, hands steady on his crossbow. 

Daryl had already gathered that a family had lived there. The scuffs on the cream coloured walls were marks that Daryl was all too familiar with. Pencilled on the kitchen doorframe he had noticed the heights of the three children- Emily, Derek, Sara. Toys had been left out on the floor as well. Little building blocks and dismembered Barbie dolls. Daryl prayed that he wouldn't find the kids in the same state. 

He moved into the kitchen, setting down his crossbow to start the search. 

After collecting only a couple of cans of soup, Jesus emerged from the living room.

"Got some stuff for Judith," he announced as he walked over to Daryl, his hands full with an assortment of books.

"The kid can barely walk and you're getting her books?" Daryl opened his bag to toss the items in. 

"Gotta start early. I found a few of my favourites in here as well," Jesus said, starting to read out a couple of the titles.

"' _The Great Gatsby_ ', ' _Frankenstein_ '.."

"Bet you're one of those guys who buys kids books for Christmas," Daryl interrupted as he chuckled to himself, slinging the bag back over his shoulder. 

"There's nothing wrong with that," Jesus said incredulously, hugging the books to his chest as if he was protecting them from Daryl's hurtful words. 

"Alright, kid."

"Enough with the _kid_ , daddy Dixon. Do you even know my name?" 

Daryl fought back the blush that was threatening to humiliate him, snapping back.

"I ain't calling you 'Jesus'."

"That's fine, you can call me Paul," he continued, his eyes never faltering on Daryl. 

"Fine," Daryl countered, wanting to have the last word as he picked up his crossbow and left the kitchen to head for the stairs. 

********************

They smelt them before they saw them. The unforgiving stench of rotting flesh and decaying organs pierced both of the men. It was a smell they would never get used to. 

Daryl held back a gag as he motioned for Jesus to keep quiet. 

The landing itself seemed normal enough, with a family picture hung proudly on one of the walls. There were four doors- presumably all bedrooms and one bathroom. They listened carefully as they crept up, Daryl moving to one of the doorways. He nodded for Jesus to take the room next door. Jesus moved swiftly in. 

Daryl burst into the room, his crossbow ready.

It was almost effortless for him now. Bring his arms up, aim high for the forehead, shoot, search for the next one. The blood never fazed him. However the sight of the room had Daryl's stomach churning unpleasantly. 

It was the children's playroom, undoubtedly. Except it was red. All red. Blood was smeared high on the walls, splatters all over the ceilings. It was soaked into the wood and had stained the carpet and drowned the toys. The stench of carcasses filled Daryl's nose and he retched, doubling over when his eyes fell on the sight in the centre of the children's room. Tied up in a circle on the once pink rug was the family. Or what remained of them. They were back to back in a circle, a red rope around their waists, ankles, and wrists. Three children and two adults. Their insides spilled out, their hair hacked off. They were groaning at the sight of Daryl, kicking their legs and pulling at the restraints. 

"The fuck-" Daryl breathed out as he gripped onto his crossbow, eyes fixated on the family. It was almost satanic. He had never seen anything like this before. 

"Holy shit."

Jesus stalked into the room within seconds, seemingly unfazed by the sight. His knife was covered in the sticky liquid. 

"Are you okay?"

It took a few seconds for Daryl to realise he was addressing him. 

"Yeah, 'm.. M'okay," he glanced at Jesus. His eyes were genuine. Not a sign of pity. Something about that made the unpleasant twist inside his stomach relax slightly.

Jesus stared at him for a few seconds before nodding, turning to the horrific sight in the middle of the room. 

"We should.. Put them out of their misery," Jesus spoke slowly, moving over to the walkers. He stepped carefully, and Daryl watched him for a moment before following. He wasn't going to watch him do this on his own. 

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," Daryl grunted, interrupting Jesus as he brought up his crossbow to the head of the father. Jesus nodded, pulled out his knife, and looked down at the mother. 

********************

They completed the next two houses in a disturbed silence. They took whatever they could, managing to tick off all the items on the list. It was a successful trip in all, but the only thing Daryl wanted to do was get away as quickly as he could. 

Jesus and Daryl headed for the car, both eager to leave. Daryl got into the passenger seat.

Jesus slid the key into the ignition before looking over at Daryl, casting his gaze over the hunched figure. The man confused him. When they first met, Jesus assumed that Daryl was just the muscles out of him and Rick. An intimidating but dumb redneck. He was quickly proved wrong when he saw Daryl take charge during the war, leading tactfully and skilfully. He saw Daryl fiercely protecting his loved ones, and caring for the children. He was a man of his word, loyal, and kind. 

Yet after Negan was killed and his men captured, the spark within him seemed to be snuffed out. He disappeared in their joint community. Daryl never turned up for their dinners, and when he decided to attend the council meetings, they were lucky to get a grunt out of him. Sometimes he could be locked away for days, holed up in his house with a single noise. On the rare occasion that Daryl was in a good mood, Jesus saw him staying close to either Rick or Aaron in quiet conversation. He had an inkling that this change in behaviour had something to do with Maggie, but he felt like it was the wrong time to ask. 

Jesus opened his mouth, about to say something, but then stopped himself. It could wait. 

He set off, eyes set on the road ahead.

"You ever heard of The Doors?" Jesus asked, breaking the silence as he began tapping his fingers against the wheel. Daryl lifted his head from the window, scratching at the back of his hand absentmindedly. 

He replied shortly, "The what?"

Jesus grinned, reaching with his free hand to find the CD in the collection on the side. 

"Mr. Dixon, I am about to revolutionise your taste in music. Just you wait."

Daryl raised his eyebrows, half amused as he watched the CD slide into the player. The music began to play. 

" _People are strange when you're a stranger, faces look ugly when you're alone_..." Jesus sang along softly, rolling down the window. It was a sunny day and the wind made Jesus' hair rise with the music. 

" _Women seem wicked when you're unwanted..._ "

Daryl closed his eyes, focusing on Jesus' voice. The memories of the blood and the bodies drifted from his head as he focused on the sounds and words of the song. Strangely, it was helping. 

Going out on runs was something that required trust and precision. Daryl normally worked well with anyone, but when you need to be silent, you need someone who can read your body language and eyes effortlessly. Rick was able to read Daryl from a mile away, but because he was busy running things back at Alexandria he hardly left to go on runs. He was busy with Judith as well. Aaron read Daryl a little _too_ well, and the pitying looks and puppy eyes made Daryl want to punch someone. Surprisingly, going on the run with Jesus hadn't been too bad. He hadn't pitied Daryl, or given him any concerned looks when he'd freaked out over the family's state. Aside from the occasional innuendo and 'daddy Dixon', he hadn't pissed him off too much. 

" _Streets are uneven when you're down.._ "

Did he like Jesus? No. But he definitely didn't dislike him. Daryl shuffled around in his seat as he listened to his voice, turning to look out the window. 

********************

They pulled up and clambered out of the car once they passed the gate. Daryl, for once, was glad to be back. 

"Hey, Daryl!" 

Daryl slung his bag over his shoulder, looking up to see who was calling him. Rosita was jogging over to him, her hair pulled back into a high pony tail. She saluted a 'hello' to Jesus before turning to Daryl, smiling. 

"Carol's here to see you," she announced, slightly out of a breath. 

Daryl couldn't help his smile this time, suddenly itching to see her. He hadn't seen Carol in ages, and she used to be one of the only people who kept him sane. Without Carol, he probably would have left the group years ago. Unfortunately she had chosen to live in the Kingdom with Ezekiel, preferring the quiet life. This meant he hardly saw her. She had asked Daryl if he'd wanted to come with her, but he'd declined. Despite it being more quieter than Alexandria, the place was totally unknown to him. 

He began to walk towards his house but then stopped.

"I need to go give this in, and talk to Rick," Daryl patted his bag, turning to Rosita, "Tell Carol I'll be there in a minute?"

"I got it-" Jesus walked over and took the bag from Daryl with a smile.

"I'll tell Rick you're here and hand out the condoms. I'll personally come and deliver your share, Dixon," Jesus grinned and winked unashamedly, before striding off to Rick's house. Daryl heard him whistling as he walked. He turned, quickly walking off in the opposite direction.

Rosita watched both of the men with raised eyebrows, before shaking her head. _Fuck knows what's going on between them_ , she thought. 

Daryl headed home eagerly, opening his front door. He could tell that Carol was there already: the cigarette stubs had disappeared from the couch and the bottles were in the bin. He forgot to take off his shoes in his hurry to see her, making his way to the living room. 

"Finally decided to come see me?" Daryl grinned as he saw her. She turned, a playful smile on her lips as she walked over to hug Daryl tightly. She was definitely one of the exceptions to his hugging rule. 

"I missed you, you idiot."

It was comforting to have her there. They spent the next few hours catching up on the couch, with Carol telling him about the new advances in farming at the Kingdom and Daryl reporting back on the Council. 

"...Zeke reckons we can have half of the piglets sent over to you as well," Carol continued, picking at the edge of her jumper. Daryl screwed up his nose slightly.

"Zeke?"

"Ezekiel," she quickly corrected herself, her eyes leaving Daryl's, "Sorry."

"S'okay.." Daryl mumbled, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. 

"So.." Carol continued after a while, leaning back against the couch, "How are you?"

Daryl stayed quiet for a few moments, looking down at his hands. 

"M'fine," he mumbled. He was starting to get quieter. 

_You've lost her. She loves him now._

"No bullshit Daryl. Aaron was telling me you lock yourself in this dump for days and don't come out to eat," Carol said, no sharpness in her tone. However he could tell that she was telling him off now.

"And look at your hair. What did I tell you about cutting it?"

She reached over, tucking his hair behind his ear. It was gentle. It made Daryl want to cry. 

"Do you want to come back with me?" she finally asked. She asked every time, even though she knew the answer. 

"M'okay," Daryl grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Carol regarded him, beginning to stand up. 

"Where are you going?" Daryl looked up at her, half wanting to beg her to stay. She wrapped her cardigan around her, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Rick's offered me the spare room in his place. I'm only staying the night. Unless you need me to stay here?" Carol looked down at Daryl. He swallowed. 

_She'll forget about you._

"Nah.." Daryl shrugged, standing up as well, "Just say bye tomorrow, yeah?"

She nodded with a small smile before pressing a kiss to his forehead. And then she was gone. 

_She'll end up hating you._

Daryl swayed on his feet. Not fucking now. Couldn't he have one day without feeling like absolute shit?

He started breathing deeply as he stumbled through to the kitchen, his fingers curled into his fists. Carol had a fucking nickname for him. In the back of his mind he knew there was something between them, he just knew it. He knew it, he knew it. Carol and Ezekiel. She was gonna leave him like everyone else. Gonna just forget about him. 

"Fucking.." he breathed out incoherently to himself, moving over to the fridge. It was dark. The light in the fridge hurt his eyes. Daryl grabbed at the bottles blindly, leaving the fridge door open as he moved to the couch. 

It wasn't fair. If everyone left him alone, he wouldn't feel a fucking thing. No one would be able to hurt him like this. Everyone just enjoyed it. Yeah, that was it, he thought savagely, everyone enjoyed it. Enjoyed seeing him in a mess. Liked seeing the stupid redneck pissed out of his mind. Well, he'd show them.

He unscrewed the cap of the bottle with shaking hands, before slumping down on the couch. He was breathless and dizzy, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The alcohol burned the back of his throat as he chugged it down, desperate to feel something other than the banging in his head. He focused on the feeling of the liquid trickling down his chin and his throat, pressing the glass to his lips again. He needed more. He needed to feel numb again.

********************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback/comments would be appreciated!


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